


The Sports of Sharks and Men

by Crazythatcounts



Series: Save a Whale... [1]
Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazythatcounts/pseuds/Crazythatcounts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veser takes Ples fishing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sports of Sharks and Men

The water was calm and crystal clear that early morning. The sun licked the white caps far out at sea as it broke over the landscape, leading the earth into a new dawn of a new day. And with that dawn came two people, sitting on the end of a small pier, fishing. Or, at least, attempting to do something of the sort. One pole was in the water, the handle situated between a pair of sturdy thighs, holding it straight up without much effort. The other was in a pair of pale, slightly jittery hands. 

"Hold it still!" Veser commanded, trying desperately to catch the swinging hook to bait it. His jacket served as his seat on the dock, and otherwise, he wore only black swim trunks, bare feet tickling the water below. The other soul on the pier happened to be a certain Ples Tibenoch, who had been coerced into rolling up his pants and sleeves, at least. His shoes were with Veser's, at the other end of the pier, where his vest was also located. 

"Shit." Veser's finger quickly went to his mouth as he caught the baited hook with his other hand. Ples gently reached out to look at the injured finger, but Veser pulled his hand back, shaking it, but looking perfectly fine. "Just poked myself. M'fine." 

"A-Alright, then. Now what do we do?" Ples asked, feeling a fish nibbling at his submerged toe and shivering. Veser stood, handing the set pole to Ples and taking the newly baited one. 

"You hold that." And with those words, Veser threw the line out into the deepest water he could reach, watching the line sink below sight. The white thread picked up the rising sun and it lit up like lights at Christmas. "Now, we settle in." 

"And wait?" Ples looked at the pole beneath his fingers. Black and blue and patterned with sharks, silver reel and slick as the water by the dock; Ples considered when and where Veser obtained the pole, for it seemed in a decent condition. 

"Yeah. Fishing's a lot of waiting around." Veser kicked the water, settling against the hard wood, and eventually leaned back, leaving the pole secure between his legs. 

"How will we know when we have something?" Ples questioned, following the line with his eyes. 

"Oh, you'll know. Trust me." 

~*~

Time passed. Ples kept getting up and coming back, much to the relaxing Veser's dismay. First, it was sunscreen, so they wouldn't burn. Then, water. Then, a snack for Veser. 

"Ples, just sit down!" Veser sat up and frowned at the older man, who was in the process of rising again. He quietly sat, taking the pole in his hands again. The constant tick-tock coming from Ples made the time seem to pass slower and slower, leaving the reclining half-selkie feeling bored. Tick, tock, tick, tock. The time droned on, second after second, the sun now high enough to bake their skin lightly. 

The zing of a line snapping taught brought him quickly sitting up. Ples was holding tightly to the pole, the taught line bending the end nearly double. Ples glanced at Veser, and Veser mimed a reeling motion, nodding urgently. There needed to be no words, nor could there be, for neither man had enough breath to form them. Veser was breathless with excitement that something finally happened. Ples was just startled. 

Ples tried to do as Veser instructed, but it seemed the line was going out rather than in. The reel hissed, the sound of the drag buzzing as the line drew further and further out. 

"Is it supposed to be making that sound?" Ples asked, having given up straining his hand against the pull and simply holding the reel in place. 

"It's keeping the line from breaking with the force. Whatever you do, don't let go." Veser's teeth gleamed in the light as he grinned at the ticking man and the fishing pole. Eventually, the sound stopped, the line going taught but still, the fish having nothing left to pull. Veser stood in an attempt to glimpse the behemoth  of a fish that could pull that hard. 

The sudden yelp and subsequent splash brought him back from the horizon. Ples was nowhere in sight. 

"Aw, shit." Veser murmured. He stuck his pole securely in between the wooden planks  not like it mattered if the pole vanished or not  and dove into the calm water. 

Underneath the surface, the currents churned, flipping Veser first up, then down, spinning him a little with the contrasting movements. He surfaced only once or twice for the ever necessary air, diving back down quickly into the deep abyss below him. Ples eventually came into view, eyes closed, mouth open, drifting and flipping along with the current, still holding onto the pole. 

Veser swam down and took Ples under the arms, hauling him to the surface. Whatever had dragged them out there left a while ago, and it took the hook and bait with it, leaving only the pole and a broken line in it's wake. Veser glanced at the dock, and then at the slick and pale face cradled against his chest, frowning. At least Ples listened.  

~*~

"C'mon, Ples, wake up." Veser shook the still ticking man hard. They were on the beach by the dock, both covered in sand and water and mud and all sorts of things that came from climbing on shore. Ples wasn't breathing, but he was ticking, though slowly, and Veser hoped ticking was a very good sign. But there was still no movement to be had, and Veser quietly shook the older man again, hoping to rouse him, but afraid to hope just in case he couldn't. "You've got to wake up. You've just got to." 

The wayward teen lost in Veser felt his chest tighten as he shook Ples more violently. "You idiot, when I said don't let go, I didn't mean this! I thought you'd know better than to let it dammit, let it kill you." He shook Ples once more, hoping to shake his breathing back into him. No luck. But it did rouse a thought in Veser's spinning mind. Breathing. 

Without further shaking, or thinking, Veser closed his lips around Ples's in some half-assed attempt at CPR or some desperate need to try whatever he had left, or even more forward in his brain, a desperate attempt at a final goodbye. Whatever the case, it seemed to work well enough, for the next moment Veser was backing off and Ples was coughing up salt water all over the sand. 

"Fuck, Ples!" Veser quietly rubbed Ples's back as he got rid of the water clogging his lungs. "You scared the shit out of me." 

Ples sat up and attempted to dry off his mouth with the end of his shirt but found that his shirt was wetter than his mouth and failed at the attempt. He looked rather embarrassed. He didn't have time to let go of the pole, the tug was so sudden. 

But the embarrassment vanished when suddenly Veser's arms were around him and Veser's face was pressed into the crook of his neck, taking in the scent and the heat and everything that proved that Ples was most certainly alive and well. Ples took a decent moment to wrap his arms around the boy, smiling. 

"I did not mean to" Ples started, but Veser shook his head, laughter tickling his chest. He pulled back, grinning. 

"Don't start, Ples. C'mon, let's get our stuff and get lunch." 

"Let's not have fish, then."


End file.
